Introduction

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　There are good things which we want to share with the world andgood things which we want to keep to ourselves. The secret of ourfavourite restaurant, to take a case, is guarded jealously fromall but a few intimates; the secret, to take a contrary case, ofour infallible remedy for seasickness is thrust upon everytraveller we meet, even if he be no more than a casualacquaintance about to cross the Serpentine. So with our books.There are dearly loved books of which we babble to a neighbour atdinner, insisting that she shall share our delight in them; andthere are books, equally dear to us, of which we say nothing,fearing lest the praise of others should cheapen the glory of ourdiscovery. The books of "Saki" were, for me at least, in thesecond class.It was in the WESTMINSTER GAZETTE that I discovered him (I like toremember now) almost as soon as he was discoverable. Let us sparea moment, and a tear, for those golden days in the early nineteenhundreds, when there were five leisurely papers of an evening inwhich the free-lance might graduate, and he could speak of hisAlma Mater, whether the GLOBE or the PALL MALL, with as much prideas, he never doubted, the GLOBE or the PALL MALL would speak oneday of him. Myself but lately down from ST. JAMES', I was not tooproud to take some slight but pitying interest in men of othercolleges. The unusual name of a freshman up at WESTMINSTERattracted my attention; I read what he had to say; and it was onlyby reciting rapidly with closed eyes the names of our own famousalumni, beginning confidently with Barrie and ending, now verydoubtfully, with myself, that I was able to preserve myequanimity. Later one heard that this undergraduate from overseashad gone up at an age more advanced than customary; and just asCambridge men have been known to complain of the maturity ofOxford Rhodes scholars, so one felt that this WESTMINSTER free-lance in the thirties was no fit competitor for the youth of othercolleges. Indeed, it could not compete.Well, I discovered him, but only to the few, the favoured, did Ispeak of him. It may have been my uncertainty (which stillpersists) whether he called himself Sayki, Sahki or Sakki whichmade me thus ungenerous of his name, or it may have been thefeeling that the others were not worthy of him; but how refreshingit was when some intellectually blown-up stranger said "Do youever read Saki?" to reply, with the same pronunciation and evengreater condescension: "Saki! He has been my favourite author foryears!"A strange exotic creature, this Saki, to us many others who weretrying to do it too. For we were so domestic, he so terrifyinglycosmopolitan. While we were being funny, as planned, with collar-studs and hot-water bottles, he was being much funnier withwerwolves and tigers. Our little dialogues were between John andMary; his, and how much better, between Bertie van Tahn and theBaroness. Even the most casual intruder into one of his sketches,as it might be our Tomkins, had to be called Belturbet or de Ropp,and for his hero, weary man-of-the-world at seventeen, nothingless thrilling than Clovis Sangrail would do. In our envy we mayhave wondered sometimes if it were not much easier to be funnywith tigers than with collar-studs; if Saki's careless cruelty,that strange boyish insensitiveness of his, did not give him anunfair start in the pursuit of laughter. It may have been so;but, fortunately, our efforts to be funny in the Saki manner havenot survived to prove it.What is Saki's manner, what his magic talisman? Like every artistworth consideration, he had no recipe. If his exotic choice ofsubject was often his strength, it was often his weakness; if hisinsensitiveness carried him through, at times, to victory, itbrought him, at times, to defeat. I do not think that he has that"mastery of the CONTE"--in this book at least--which some haveclaimed for him. Such mastery infers a passion for tidiness whichwas not in the boyish Saki's equipment. He leaves loose endseverywhere. Nor in his dialogue, delightful as it often is, funnyas it nearly always is, is he the supreme master; too much does itbecome monologue judiciously fed, one character giving and theother taking. But in comment, in reference, in description, inevery development of his story, he has a choice of words, a "wayof putting things" which is as inevitably his own vintage as, oncetasted, it becomes the private vintage of the connoisseur.Let us take a sample or two of "Saki, 1911.""The earlier stages of the dinner had worn off. The wine listshad been consulted, by some with the blank embarrassment of aschoolboy suddenly called upon to locate a Minor Prophet in thetangled hinterland of the Old Testament, by others with the severescrutiny which suggests that they have visited most of the higher-priced wines in their own homes and probed their familyweaknesses.""Locate" is the pleasant word here. Still more satisfying, in thestory of the man who was tattooed "from collar-bone to waist-linewith a glowing representation of the Fall of Icarus," is the word"privilege":"The design when finally developed was a slight disappointment toMonsieur Deplis, who had suspected Icarus of being a fortresstaken by Wallenstein in the Thirty Years' War, but he was morethan satisfied with the execution of the work, which was acclaimedby all who had the privilege of seeing it as Pincini'smasterpiece."This story, THE BACKGROUND, and MRS PACKLETIDE'S TIGER seem to meto be the masterpieces of this book. In both of them Clovisexercises, needlessly, his titular right of entry, but he can beremoved without damage, leaving Saki at his best and mostcharacteristic, save that he shows here, in addition to his ownshining qualities, a compactness and a finish which he did notalways achieve. With these I introduce you to him, confident thatten minutes of his conversation, more surely than any words ofmine, will have given him the freedom of your house.A. A. MILNE.